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mybarefootdrive Mar 2014
Sometimes he let his eyes rest on hers, it needn't have been painful,
but it strangely was.
He broke a lifetime of avoiding eye contact to show her.
She was worth overcoming obstacles for.
847 · Mar 2016
Imaginary
mybarefootdrive Mar 2016
I imagine you're with me that you lye beside me
and going to bed isn't boring or lonely or inevitable
but warm and fulfilling.
I imagine I go to sleep with the knowledge that someone loves me.

It could be a pillow I hold close and burrow my face into as if I am gently kissing your neck, the heat of my own body could be yours beside me.

When you're lonely the mind can step up and over compensate.
When you're terribly lonely and unsure of the prospect of love ever happening,
you'll believe anything.
515 · Jan 2017
You Are Where I Used to Be
mybarefootdrive Jan 2017
Sometimes it feels like a distant memory,
there is fog in its place.
But I see the plea in your eyes
and I try my hardest to remember.

Hanging off my every word,
and you use adjectives
that have not been subject to my ears
for ever such a long time.
Amazing.
The spark in your eyes flaring, wildly.
Excitedly.
147 · Oct 2019
My Reason
mybarefootdrive Oct 2019
I cannot blame you for a depression that existed in me, before we even met.
It made sense you filled me with a joy so enormous
simple minds fail to comprehend.
Tapped into a sacred spot
not visible to the naked eye.
The euphoria was a sight to behold
when I held you in my arms.
Fleeting as it was
intimacy I was born to understand.
I found my calling
my reason
against an otherwise fractured and cruelly cold world.
93 · May 2020
Still Missing
mybarefootdrive May 2020
Sometimes I wonder
How many others
have frequented this same spot,
have felt heavy limbs drop.
Passive to what came next-
As if no amount of questioning could save their fate.
Have had their heart broken at King's Cross Station..

What possessed you to purchase a one way train ticket-
skipping school, breaking a perfect attendance record
seemingly on a whim?
Starting a new term, boredom ensued,
adventure beckoned.
Recent changes in behaviour surely set the scene.

Were you summoned by false promises-
Lured into the arms of a man you felt compelled to meet
On a week day, in the city?
I could have sat in the same train carriage
I could have met your eye.
Remembering the whirlwind that was, 14.
Writing in a diary no one would ever read.
Shredding into pieces, aged 18.
Forgive me,
I couldn't fathom seeing 18, at, 14.
Far fetched in forgetting time marches on,
being stuck in a place of pain.
Clinging on to suggestive song lyrics,
suggesting being Queer was okay.

Did he tell you it would be Okay?

You wore your favourite band t-shirt, had awoken late
in an irritable mood that morning.
Out of character, they said.
They traced any internet activity  
any possible CCTV sightings.
You had lost a mobile phone over a year ago.
The trail of answers quickly ran cold
the stream of questions would never end.

Your dad felt you might have struggled with your sexuality
though you never explicitly said anything.
Shame can embody you, silence you.
At 14 it can surely threaten to suffocate you!
I still ache for the shame I let cover curious green eyes,
for the sugar mouse she promised me at 14,
for the arms I kept by my sides.
''It gets better'' is the narrative attempt to reassure you on YouTube,
but how many difficult years must first pass until it is bearable?

Hindsight is a luxury afforded only with time.

Sometimes I wonder
How many others
have frequented this same spot,
have felt heavy limbs drop.
Passive to what came next-
As if no amount of questioning could save their fate.
Have had their heart broken at King's Cross Station?
77 · May 2020
Putting On His Shoes
mybarefootdrive May 2020
It was the weight of you sat resting against my knees.

The ease with which your features lit up around me.

"He likes boys" you tell me.

And I smile back,

as wide as I can stretch my lips.

I try to make my face beam like his.

I try to match his effortless moon face.

And remember what it is like to thrive off simple joys.

For I am 28, and felt the cynicism of life's scorn.

I have weathered worn skin and a patch of white hairs in my beard.

But, I swear I will never let you see the furrowed brow of a frown around me.

And I thought of being a father and it struck me how natural holding someone else's son felt.

I couldn't help but steal nervous glances at his father for fear of taking his place.

Walking straight into it, as if putting on his shoes.

— The End —